Of Love and Loss
by armonistan
Summary: Love. Grief. Words are weak. Sad surrogates that cannot hope to truly embody the truth. What we feel. What we are. It is not enough to say.
1. Chapter 1

"Andraste's breath..."

That the Guard-Captain blasphemed was a testament to the foul aura that gripped the cavern. It was not just the reek of decaying flesh, nor was it that the ground was soiled with blood. No, it was something more.

While Aveline could not place it, her companion could.

'_The Veil is weak here. No, it's even weaker than usual. And all this blood. Blood Magic. Never Puking-Rainbow Magic. Because, of course, it's fucking Kirkwall.' _Hawke exhaled as her thoughts took a pause. _ 'It's going to be okay. Yes, it's going to be okay. It's going to be...'_

Varric made a less than subtle glance at his companion.

"You okay?"

Hawke took a step forward. She closed her eyes in disgust as her boot made a wet squishing noise. While she wanted to believe the floor was muddy due to water, the crimson tinge suggested otherwise.

"Peachy. I mean I have always wanted to explore a dank, evil cave, knowing that my mother has been abducted by some madman. Yup, just peachy."

In truth, her heart was racing. The air tingled, as if charged by some force.

_'A ritual? No, it doesn't feel right. Off somehow. No, it doesn't matter. Just need to find her.'_

Hawke took another step. She was rewarded with another sopping squelch.

_'Maker, this has to be a bad dream.'_

* * *

A sultry, if impatient, feminine voice called out. _"_Hawke? Hawke? You awake?"

It wasn't until Isabela made several finger-snaps in Hawke's face that Isabela received an appropriate response.

"What?"

The shipwrecked captain gave her an annoyed glare. Hawke's confused face only served to intensify the expression.

Varric cleared his throat, reminding the two women he was still here.

"It's your turn." He started. "Remember?"

"My turn...?"

It was pure fortune for Hawke that Isabela was not born a mage. Otherwise, Hawke would have found herself engulfed in flames. Instead, what could only be described as a death glare had to suffice.

The dwarf face-palmed. "Here's a hint. Look at your hands."

Her eyes met her hands, almost as if for the first time. To their credit, the hands weren't too upset about being forgotten. They were too busy holding a pair of cards.

_'Cards...?'_

Then it clicked. They were playing a game.

"Oh, shit!" She muttered, before apologizing. "...sorry."

The dwarf gave a shrug. As for Isabela, Hawke didn't need to even glance to know the dark skinned woman was still trying to burn holes in her. So, instead, she kept focus on her pair of cards.

"Hmm."

_'What were we playing again? Was it Wicked Grace? Or Marcher's Gambit? Not like I have anything anyway.'_

"I fold."

After holding the same expression for Maker knew how long, Hawke was rather impressed to see Isabela's face break out into elated surprise.

Varric was not so jolly. "Are you sure, Hawke?" The question was long and deliberate, desperately trying to get a "No" in response.

Before, Hawke could even consider the question, Isbela stepped in. She had smelled blood and wasn't about to let go now.

"Hey! No take-backsies!" She cried out.

With that, the Rivani sprung from her chair, sending it flying backwards. Then, despite her slender form, she managed to encompass the whole table before dragging the winnings and everything else toward her side.

"Yeeesss. Mine."

Ignoring the spectacle, Varric removed himself from his chair. A few defeated steps later, Hawke found the dwarf beside her.

"Alright, let's at least see your hand." He sighed.

"Sure..."

Varric held the cards, staring.

"You...you had Drakon and Justinia?"

"I guess so." Hawke replied nonchalantly.

"What do you mean 'you guess'?" He asked, pointedly.

"I didn't really look at them."

For a second time, Varric face-palmed. "Well, Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks, Hawke. You just threw away a half dozen sovereigns."

"A half dozen sovereigns?" Hawke repeated. "Psh, don't joke around."

The dwarf made a face toward her.

"That wasn't a joke."

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"It...wasn't?"

He shook his head.

Her aqua eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

The dwarf sighed, before returning to his chair. There, he put his hands to his face. He remained that way for some time. Hawke watched as his shoulders rose, then fell, then again as Varric took deep breathes. Finally, her friend returned his attention to her.

"Hawke, are you okay?" The look of concern matched his tone.

The question took her aback. It was rare to see her friend say something so serious, much less mean it. She did not like where this was going.

"Of course, I am!" Hawke unintentionally exclaimed. Varric's stare made it obvious her bluff failed.

"Hawke..."

"Fine. I'm fine, Varric. Just a little upset about the game, I guess."

"It's been two weeks." His somber tone hadn't changed. "We haven't even talked since...then."

Hawke pursed her lips for a moment. "Just been busy, I guess. But, I'm here now. And we are talking. So..."

She forced a smile. Varric held the opposite.

"I am okay. Really."

Varric exhaled. "Look, I'm not trying to be a worried mother hen."

It only took that one word to rip the "smile" from her face. Varric blinked before realizing his mistake.

"I didn't mean to." He apologized, the words stumbling on themselves. "Look, I'm no good with this. It's just...I am worried for you."

The words never reached Hawke. She was too caught up in the vortex of her emotion. Her eyes began to well up in tears, with cheeks hot in embarrassment.

_'Not here. Please, don't let them see me.' _

She tried to restore her mirth. But, she couldn't. She tried to say words. But, she couldn't. She tried to at least stay where was. But, she couldn't. All she could do was run. In one fluid motion, Hawke was off her seat and out door.

"Fuck."

That was all Varric could say, as he stood at the empty table.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke gave out an exasperated sigh as she shut door behind her.

_'I am the Arishok. Look at me cross my arms and grunt cryptic sayings. But wait, now I am some moronic zealot. Let's threaten the Arishok and see what happens! Because annoying a seven foot horned giant who leads other giants is a great idea!'_

She shook her head.

_'Why the hell am I the "official mediator" for these two fucks? Last time I checked, "diplomat" was not in my job description. Better to have sent Avaline...'_

She snorted. Send Avaline? Now that was a joke. The Guard-Captain of Kirkwall was more blunt than a club.

_'Whatever, I'm home and the Qunari business is done with... for now.'_

"Mother, I'm home," Hawke greeted.

_'Now time for the second storm...'_

To say Mother did not approve of her daughter's new role was an understatement. How many hours of worried mother-speak had she sat through? Hawke could hear it now.

'_Where have you been, young woman? I was just about to call the city guard for you. Blah blah blah.'_

However, to Hawke's surprise, out of the foyer came not her mother but her uncle.

"Gamlen?"

The grouchy gray-haired man grunted an affirmative. It always disturbed Hawke that both him and her mother did not age well. Between the widening wrinkles, oily hair, and terrible fashion, Hawke could imagine the horror of becoming... old. She gave a shudder.

"What's with you?" He asked, noticing her tremble.

"Nothing," she lied.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment. It didn't take a genius to catch Hawke's fib. But, before he could follow up, she decided to push the conversation along.

"Anyway, why are you here?" She asked, genuinely curious. "I know you don't like to come up. Too "prissy", I believe?"

To her surprise, Gamlen did not take her bait. At least not in the way she had expected.

"Leandra didn't come to our weekly get-together." His tone was... worried.

"So what? Mother might have just forgotten or something."

He crossed his arms and gave a deep frown. Internally, Hawke groaned.

_'Maker, just like the Qunari. I wonder if the Arashok has been recruiting...'_

"Leandra doesn't just "forget". She hasn't missed a single one since you two moved out of the piss-end of Lowtown."

Despite the potential gravity of the situation, Mother missing and all, Hawke couldn't let this slip up.

_'Piss-end, eh? Sorry, uncle. Left yourself open to this one.'_

"Wait, we moved out of your place. Wouldn't that make your house the piss-end of Lowtown? And by extension, the target of the Maker's crotch? I assume that is where the piss is coming from."

Gamlen's face fell sullen.

Hawke frowned. "What? I thought it was funny."

"Cathryn, listen to me. This is serious."

_'He used my first name.' _She could feel her stomach churn._ 'Mother not coming must really be spooking him.'_

Leaving her frown in place, Hawke conceded. "Okay, Uncle. You have my attention."

He exhaled. It wasn't until the tension left Gamlen's body did Hawke realize just how on edge he was.

_'Maybe it would be better if I kick this off.'_

"Do you have any leads? Anything that is causing this worry? Aside from Mother not showing up?"

"Well, no," he admitted, tartly.

Hawke slowly closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. Here her uncle was in the middle of a panic, because... Mother was tardy. And here she was almost beginning to worry as well. All while being serious. Maker, she hated serious. She slowly opened her eyes.

"You're kidding me." Hawke said flatly.

"Look. I just know Leandra is in trouble. I just do."

"How am I supposed to do anything when all I have is a hunch?" Her agitation with her uncle was beginning to show.

He stared at her, almost pleading. The grouch of an uncle she knew melted into a desperate brother worried for his only sister. However, Hawke wasn't in the sympathizing mood. Gamlen had worked her up, and she was not going to let that go.

"Well?" She demanded.

"Dammit. I don't know!" He admitted, frustration erupting from his niece's behavior.

Gamlen slammed his fist against the wall. The result was a crash of glass hitting marble flooring. Both Amells turned to face source of the crash.

"Shit, Uncle. You made a-"

Her words stopped when she saw it. There, glass strewn, it lay: white lilies.

_'No. No. No...'_

She refused to believe it. It had to be a mistake. A coincidence. Yet, she knew. Her heart forced her sight to turn away. However, her mind could not be fooled. It knew. Her eyes returned to fallen flowers.

Unaware of Hawke's internal struggle, Gamlen began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I just didn't mean t-"

Hawke interrupted. "Mother mentioned being courted, yes?" Her words were distant.

Hawke's out of character tone left Gamlen at unease. "Umm, yes, I think so. It was so silly, I didn't believe her."

At first, Hawke could only ask herself how? How had she not connected the dots? Then came the why? Why had she not paid attention to her own mother?

_'I...I can't do this. Not now. I have to act.'_

"Uncle." She didn't even look at him. "Go get the Guard."

"The Guard?" He parroted.

"Yes. Tell Aveline I need her. Now. Meet me outside the Hanged Man."

Without giving more than a puzzled look, Gamlen took off. Some small part of her was impressed the old geezer could still move even remotely swift. When the door slammed shut, Hawke finally turned away from the lilies.

_'It's going to be okay. This-this is just an average day in Kirkwall. If I haven't had to save someone from some psycho then something is wrong. Yeah, just another day...aside from the victim being your mother.'_

With those not so comforting thoughts, she made her way out. If anyone knew if something was awry, it would be Varric.

* * *

Hawke gazed blankly at the wall in front of her. Between a rather regal painting of her grandfather (before his tragic fall from social and political grace, of course) and a shiny silver shield from Maker knew where laid a wonderfully bare portion of wall. There, she found herself lost in thought.

_'Why? Why did this happen?'_

She almost slapped herself. What a stupid question. Especially when she already knew the answer. Yet... it didn't make her feel better. She clenched her fists. Mother. Her mother. Because...

_'Because of me. If I had been quicker. If I had been stronger. If I had just listened to Gamlen and not wasted time...'_

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. Immediately, she regretted the decision. Memories flashed by her. The blood. The smile. The sti-. A sudden slam brought Hawke hurtling back into reality.

"Where's my sister?!" The words were clear, even from the foyer where she sat. It helped that the masculine tenor voice was at least two steps above yelling.

There was a brief silence. _'Probably Bodahn shitting his pants.'_

The idea almost made her smile. Almost. Instead, all that came was a sigh. The coming storm was not a surprise. That it hadn't come sooner was.

A series of increasing loud stomps ended with one word. "You."

Hawke turned her chair and self to face the source, her brother. In another world, she would have been happy to see Carver after three years. Rocky as their relationship had always been, he was still family, _her_ little brother. It was amazing really. That the man in front of her was once a boy who would never shut up or stop whining. It was an incredible transformation. There he stood, a broad-shouldered figure filled out with muscles, hard aqua eyes much like her own, resting on a sharp clean shaven face, hair cropped and short. He was... handsome? Also, he was livid.

"Answer me, dammit!"

Hawke slowly got up, silent. With careful steps, she strode to him. Some part of her was caught off-guard that her sibling was a head taller than her. Had he really grown that much? She remedied the problem with a simple raise of her head. Finally, she locked eyes with him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

It was so faint, almost like a dying breath. But, that was all she could muster. Nights of grief and days of sorrow had left her emotionally exhausted and physically raw. Whatever facade she had been able to put up had been shattered after the night at the tavern.

"Sorry... you?" Carver spoke slow and low. "Sorry? That's it?"

He snickered. Then, he broke into laughter. It was not of joy or mirth, but of contempt and outrage, in equal measure. Hawke watched the twisted spectacle until it concluded with Carver kicking a nearby chair. Specifically, the Golden Oak seat that Hawke had been residing in before his visit. Between the force of the blow and Carver's steel tipped boots, the chair stood little chance. It flew several feet backwards, splinters exploding from where metal met wood. It was miraculous that neither of them was injured.

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it, sister. It doesn't make things better. It doesn't make things right. And it DOESN'T FUCKING BRING HER BACK!"

Spittle flew onto Hawke's face. The mess made Carver look away, not wanting to watch as she wiped it off with a simple motion.

_'You're right, Carver. Sorry doesn't do shit.'_

"I'm... I didn't mean to scream in your face. It's just, Gamlen just showed up. He said that Mother was..." Although his back was turned, Hawke could feel the whirlwind of emotion coming from him. He turned, choosing to not quite look at her. "I didn't even believe him the first time he said it. Just shooed him off. It wasn't until yesterday that I finally bothered listening to him. I suppose I should have wondered why the bum would come to the Gallows every day for a half a week, unless it was something important."

He looked down, cursing his own failings.

"I should have been the one to tell you, Carver-" Hawke started, voice faint.

"Maker, no," he protested. "Noble or not, money or not, an apostate can't just walk into the Templars' quarters and expect to waltz out free."

_'That's not totally true.'_

However, she said nothing, and let the matter slip away. They stood there lost to the quiet. It might have only been a second or maybe minute or even possibly an hour, but eventually, Carver shattered the silence.

"Sister." He paused, uncertain of how to proceed. "How did she di- Gamlen wouldn't te- What happened?"

She opened her mouth, though no words would come out. Luckily, her brother wasn't finished.

"And why? Why did you let this happen? Why couldn't you save her?" His voice began to rise. "You're bloody Cathryn Hawke! You're supposed to be the hero!" How could you let her... let her... die?"

There it was.

_'The hero? I am the hero?'_

Even after the past years, he still had that damn idea stuck in his head.

_'And I just... let her die?'_

The cold somber that had gripped her flashed into heated rage.

"I AM NOT SOME FUCKING HERO!" It was her turn to yell. No, this was beyond yelling. Each word left her throat in pain. But, she couldn't stop. "I AM NOT FUCKING ANDRASTE! I AM NOT THE MAKER! GET THAT FUCKING SHIT OUT OF YOUR HEAD, CARVER!"

His face lost color. Her outburst molded his expression into a paragon of shock: eyes wide, mouth agape, brows raised.

_'Yes, look at me. See how it feels. How I feel. And this is just fraction of it. A sliver.'_

There was some satisfaction in gazing at her brother's frozen form. How long had he rode her? On and on about being "in her shadow"? About how...

_'...wetness?'_

Along her cheeks a pioneer struck a path. One that hadn't been traveled in days. Her hand rose to deal with the lone pathfinder, only to hesitate. There, slowly rolling down her cheek, was a tear.

She was crying? The revelation took her aback. Did she still have tears to shed?

There was an impasse. Part of her wanted it to stay there, a reminder of the hurt she held. To show the world she wasn't some higher being. That she was simply human. But, she couldn't though, not now. Still, it took her a moment to find the strength and do away with the drop. With that she continued the discussion.

"It was magic." Hawke's words found themselves returning back to their original softer state. "Blood magic, of course."

"What?"

The mold of emotion that had held his face in place broke, allowing it to fall to confusion.

"A blood mage killed her."

"It was magic? You're telling me magic killed her?"

Her silence was answer enough.

"Magic. It is always magic." His voice was a hollow bitterness. For the first time since she had apologized, he allowed his eyes to return to hers. "You know what the Knight-Commander tells us Templars? That magic is a curse. That those who practice it are worse than the Blight. That _they _need to be put down."

He laughed. Oh, what a terrible thing it was. It was neither bitter nor angry. It was worse than that. It was empty.

"I thought they were spouting nonsense. I mean, you're a mage. Father was a mage. Yet, for every _good _mage I see, there a thousand others. Like the one who took Mother." He shook his head. "Maybe the Knight-Commander is right."

"You... you believe that crazy hag?" She sputtered.

"Look at what _they _do. They consort with demons. They corrupt people's minds. They are a threat."

That these hypocritical words were coming from him.

"Oh, yes. Let's all bow down to Knight-I-Am-A-Tyrant-Mage-Hater-Commander Merideth." Hawke raised her arms in mock praise, before dropping them. "Because it isn't like the number of Tranquil isn't rising like the population of horny rabbits left to fuck in the open field!"

It was incredible, really. Yes, she had never got along with Carver. But, twice now he had managed to break her into full fury.

"It's for their own good, dammit!" He yelled back in response.

"For their own good? Is that what _they _say? Because taking away someone's ability to feel is acceptable? To murder what makes them them?" Her face was flush with heat. "You're a fucking dipshit."

"What did you just call me?" His words were deliberate, just waiting for her to provoke him.

And did she realize it? Yes. Did she understand that insulting his intelligence was one of the deepest cuts she could make? Yes. Did she care? No.

"Oh, did it not make sense? You. Are. A. Fucking. Dipshit."

_'That's right. You heard me.'_

"Somehow, you believe that to murder a person is a crime. But, to murder _who _a person is isn't?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't think it was possible, Carver. The Templars made you even stupider than bef-"

Regardless of whether anything Hawke had said was true or if it was just her emotions speaking, there was something that was certain: Carver hit a hell of a lot harder now. The savage fist came without warning from the right. It wasn't even a gut shot. Nothing but face.

Amazingly, Hawke suppressed a cry of surprise. Even as she hit the gray marble floor with nothing to cushion her except her shoulder. It took everything that was left to not heave from the blow.

Not moments after the tumble, Carver realized what he had done.

"Shit. I-I didn't mean..."

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes (at least, the eye that wasn't just forced shut), trying to ignore the pounding pain.

"Just go."

How long did he stand there? Perhaps staring at her and the black eye he had probably gifted her. Or maybe he had left when she had asked him to. Whatever he had done, he was gone when she managed to pry open her good eye. Seeing this, she closed her eye once more. She was alone again; thoughts almost as muddled as before he had come. The only difference was now one thought was clearer most.

_'If he's a dipshit, so am I...'_


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke wasn't one for entrances. The whole fashionably late thing or gaudy entrance never struck a chord with her. It was much better to let smooth talking give the impression you wanted: words louder than action. Even in her mildly panicked state, she gave herself a mental pat on the back.

_'Heh, words do technically speak louder. Can actions even speak? Truly, questions that need answers...And don't show you how you feel right now.'_

Of course, when she stepped into the Hanged Man it was less akin to entering and more like breaking in to steal something. Even better, despite the tavern being overrun by thirsty patrons, her coming managed to draw the attention of what felt like the entire building.

_'Shit...of all the things...'_

"Umm, Varric?" She asked, trying to cope with dozens of staring eyes.

At least twenty hands rose to point toward the stairs in the back.

"Thanks..."

Inwardly, Hawke cursed herself she deftly slid past dashing servers and drunken sods.

_'So much for being suave.'_

Hopefully, she didn't lose too much face from that. Of course, she knew better.

_'Right. Because people aren't going to remember the long lost Amell heir being flustered...'_

The idea of being mocked made her cheeks redden. In response, Hawke threw out the thought. Her reputation in some shitty bar didn't matter. At least not right this minute. She placed her hand on the door to Varric's suite.

_'Okay. Nice and calm'_

She swung the door open.

"Hawke?" The dwarf looked at her with surprise. "You should knock, you know. What if I was doing something dark or sinister?"

"Right, Varric. I could have caught you practicing blood magic. Between wondering how a dwarf is conjuring magic and why you didn't share your secrets with me, I don't know what I would do!" Hawke clasped her heart. "I would be heart broken."

Her friend gave a small chuckle. "You should quit the whole helping ambassador thing and go into acting. Make a killing."

"Killing? I do plenty of that already. Besides I would be thrown out for casting a spell over my audience."

"Two puns in one go?" Varric whistled. "Something must be on your mind."

Her jaw went agape at the dwarf's statement.

_'How the hell does he do it?'_

He answered her silent question. "We've been friends for three years. You know it's my job to read, both books and people."

She closed her mouth, but hesitated to speak.

"Hawke." The dwarf drew out her name, like a father wanting an explanation.

"Mother is missing." She blurted, finally overcoming her hesitation.

"That's...not what I expected." He looked down, talking more to himself than her. "What else?"

"I found white lilies." The words came out like a jumbled mess.

"Lilies?" Varric asked rhetorically.

She waited for it to click.

"Lilies... oh, holy shit."

Click.

"Varric, I need to know if any of your contacts spotted my mother today. Gamlen said she was here in Lowtown."

"Yeah." His voice was distant, distracted. "Just give me a sec to look at the logs."

A second passed. Hawke began to pace.

_'Of all the things. Mother just had to go out today. If she had just stayed home...if...'_

"Hawke, could you stop that?"

"Hmm?" She questioned.

"The pacing," He answered. "It's tough enough seeing you like this. I don't want you acting it, too."

"Uh, sure." She gave a nervous shrug. "Sorry."

It was another half minute before Varric spoke again. "Here. It says your mother was helping some crippled man. If you hadn't mentioned the flowers, I would say it isn't unusual."

Hawke wanted to tear her hair out.

"Maker, Mother. Why can't you just mind your own business?"

"Hawke." The dwarf chastised, a reminder not to "act worried".

"Sorry." She repeated for yet another time. "Do you mind coming with me?"

"You don't need to ask. I was going regardless."

She took sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Varric."

"Don't thank me yet." He paused with consideration. "You can get me something to drink after this though."

She snorted.

"I'll consider that a promise, Hawke."

Hawke gave him a mock glare, before taking the first step down the stairs.

"By the way, Varric, I..." She trailed off for a moment. "...I think you should bring Bianca."

"Way ahead of you."

She looked over her shoulder to see the dwarf hefting his prized crossbow.

"I mean, you didn't think I didn't notice your staff..." He stopped to mockingly correct himself. "Oh, my bad, walking stick."

Despite the jibe, Hawke couldn't bring herself to enjoy it.

"Yeah..."

Her sullen response caused the dwarf to frown, but say nothing else. Instead, he merely followed as she led the way to leave. The warm summer night greeted them as they exited the Hanged Man. The sky twinkled with starlight as a half-moon rested on its throne. The scene did nothing but make Hawke tense up.

_'How long was I in the tavern? Shit, the sun is gone. How long has Mother been taken? And where the Maker's name is Gamlen?'_

She felt a tap on her back. Surprised, she spun around, only to see Varric. The sight of her being on edge must have pained Varric, judging by the deep creases on his face.

"It's going to be alright, Hawke."

If only he knew how many times had she had said that to herself.

* * *

Pounding on the door. That was what finally removed Hawke from her bed. It was rather disappointing, honestly. A few more hours and she would have certainly become firmly rooted, much like a spud. Alas, the world's first mage-potato hybrid was not meant to be.

_'Knowing my luck, Bohdan has locked himself out again.'_

Bang. Bang. Bang.

_'A bit forceful to be him, though...'_

Bang. Bang. Bang!

"Someone at the door? I would have never guessed. I couldn't hear because of the all the damn banging!" Hawke opened the door. "What is-Aveline?"

There she stood, Captain Aveline of the Kirkwall Guard. The fiery redhead, clad in full mail as always, looked rather aghast at the sight of Hawke.

"Hawke, err, umm...you're looking...well."

"You? Trying to be diplomatic? Truly, I have seen it all."

"Nice." She corrected with a grunt. "I was trying to be nice."

"Bah." Hawke waved her hand in dismissal.

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Anyway, may I come in?"

"Be my..." Hawke said, stepping aside from the entrance.. "...guest."

Taking that a gesture to come in, Aveline took a step in. Yet, despite having been in Hawke's estate many a time, the Guard-Captain's steps echoed uncertainly on the foyer's marble floor as she followed her host.

"Aveline." Hawke started, taking a seat. "I know I am a mess."

"You look like shit actually." The redhead corrected as she claimed a seat of her own.

Indeed, in a competition between which looked worse, Hawke would've given shit a run for its money. Her ebony hair, once trim and cropped, was an unwashed, bedraggled mess. Eyes, once a radiant blue, were now a puffy red. Below them rested two sleep deprived bags. Fortunately, a fist sized black eye kindly covered the left-side bag. Perhaps the worst was her lips. The smile she gave Aveline. No, it was no smile. It was a ghost of joy long dead.

Aveline locked her gaze on Hawke. "I am worried for you. We all are..."

Hawke looked down, guilt pinging within.

_'Of course they are worried. Look at what I did to Varric. To Carver."_

"You? Worried?" Hawke spoke meekly, head still to the floor. "That's a first."

A sad attempt at sarcasm. And one that had no effect on the Guard-Captain.

"I have to be." Aveline reached with her hand and propped Hawke's head up. "It's my job, you know."

Hawke did not respond. How could she?

"You know I am here for you."

With that, she gently let Hawke's head fall down again and got up.

"If...when you need to talk, I'll be in my office. You know where to find me."

With that, Aveline took her leave. Step by step the clanking of her armor faded away, until, with a creak of a door, silence settled. It was only under this veil of quiet that Hawke could speak.

"Thank you, Aveline."


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke watched as the half rotten corpse slowed to a crawl. Unnatural ice, emitted from her staff, steadily enveloped the zombie's form until, a moment later, ice had swallowed the undead creature whole.

_'A woman. It was a woman...'_

The signs were there: hips wide, body shorter, breasts...breast, actually. One was missing. The sight was too much. Hawke gave out a battle shout as she swung her staff down on the ice. With that came an explosion of frozen shards, each filled with corpse bits.

_'It's going to be...'_

The thought ended before it could be finished. Who was she fooling? How many reanimated bodies had she fought through? All of them victims of the madman who had taken Mother. What made her believe that Mother wasn't already...?

_'No, dammit! I will save her. I have to.'_

"Don't worry, my pretty." A soft, ethereal voice cooed from behind her. "I'll save your mother..."

Hawke spun with a jump. Ahead was a slender, naked, feminine form strolled toward her, caressing itself. Its eyes held a demonic purple glow, matching its skin tone, and, in place of hair, grew bull horns. It took Hawke no time to recognize what this creature was: a demon, specifically an embodiment of desire. Perhaps, it had been summoned by Mother's kidnapper. Or maybe, it was just attracted by atrocities committed here. Either way, Hawke didn't care. It was in her way and that was mattered.

"...Then you and her can be a happy family again."

In another time, Hawke might have taunted the dark spirit. Told it off in some lewd way, or questioned its ability to procreate. Instead, she just pointed her staff at it. On cue, lighting began to spew out of the oversized wooden walking stick. The creature only had time to hiss before the wild energy struck. With frightening ease, the magic ripped through the demon's body like wet paper. As spell faded, Hawke could hear the sizzle of charred flesh hit the ground.

The violent display brought Hawke no satisfaction though. It was just another obstacle that had been removed.

_'Who's next?'_

With that in mind, Hawke pivoted her body and glanced around looking for her next victim. All she found was one Varric and one Aveline. Both were roughly ten feet away wearing grim faces. Or was it concern? Were they directing whatever they felt toward her? Hawke stared. The truth was, the sight of them was almost unexpected.

_'Am I really so gone that I forgot about my own friends?'_

If she wanted to be honest, the answer would've been "Yes." And that was distressing. Oh, Hawke knew her mind was a panicked mess. But, something like this? What if she sent that lighting spell not at a demon but at her favorite dwarf?

_'Fucking stop. Just focus. Kill bad things. Find the fucker. Save-''_

"Hawke?" A deep woman's voice asked.

Someone clasped of a Hawke's shoulder. The sudden touch gave the mage a jolt.

"We should continue." Aveline spoke, stoic face unchanged.

Hawke nodded and began to take a step.

She stopped, however, before any ground could covered. "You two okay?"

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we be asking you that?"

"It's just. I'm..." She bit her lip. Maker, the pit in her stomach was akin to an abyss. "...distracted."

Her word choice earned her another perked eyebrow from Varric.

"I mean-" She sighed. "During that last fight, I forgot you two were even here. I was so focused on-"

"We're here for you." Aveline assured, cutting off Hawke's sentence.

"You heard her." Varric followed up. "We have your back."

Those small assurances gave a warmth to Hawke. The cold panic and fury that held her previous melted. For now at least, she could stride forward to face what lay ahead with a clear mind. She closed her eyes and let the tension release from her body.

_'Thank you.'_

With that silent thanks, she opened her eyes and looked at her companions.

"Alright then," The Hawke's voice found its bravado tone triumphantly returning. "I believe we have madman to catch and my mother to save."

* * *

As usual, Hawke was garnering looks in the Viscount's Keep, the hub of Kirkwall's government, as she somberly stepped through its main hall. The various nobles that lounged about here had always made whispers about why wouldn't they? The scion of a respected aristocratic family that had fallen from grace only to rise again like a phoenix, incidentally Hawke's heraldry. Not just that, but said scion was a Ferelden halfbreed that had returned as a refugee only three years ago. And to put a cherry on top of it all, she was an apostate...in a city that was almost overtly run by the Templars.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, for her the nobles were not talking about Hawke's origins for once. Instead they had something much more interesting to gossip about; where Hawke had been the last two weeks.

Even in her melancholy, she couldn't ignore them and their prattling.

"She's finally shown up. About time. The Qunarri negotiations have fallen apart while she's been gone..."

"Where do you think she's been?"

"Who knows? Hopefully she deals with the brutes now."

Like a fly buzzing about one's face, the whispers assaulted her ears. On and on it went.

"Did you hear? Lady Leandra has been missing for some time now."

"Indeed. And neither the Guard nor the Viscount have said a thing. Useless bunch."

"If they cannot protect the Amells, how can we expect them to protect us?"

On second thought, this was worse than some insect flying about. Hawke rubbed her head, attempting to avert the oncoming migraine. The motion did not help.

"Is that a black eye?"

"I think so."

"How do you suppose she got that?"

Finally, she found herself past the entrance hall. As Hawke climbed the staircase the gossip began to fade away.

_'Thank the Maker.'_

At the end of the steps, she took a right. Ahead of her were the Guardsmen barracks. There too was a general chatter, but, the Guard was filled with common folk more interested in mundane things like what to eat for midday or whether or not tonight was a drinking night. Due to her... unique relationship with the Captain, Hawke's presence rarely caused much stir. However, as she slowly approached Aveline's office, she could feel sideways glances thrown at her.

_'Perhaps if I wasn't moving about like a brooding brute... or Carver...'_

She cringed and subconsciously touched the blue bruise on her eye.

_'Yup, I'm still a dipsh-'_

Solid wood. Aged oak to be precise. That was what Aveline's office door was made out of. Oh, Hawke knew that. She had come here more times than she could count, which was pretty high. What she could count to was the number of times she had smacked herself face first into the door: one.

Down she went, ass slamming onto the cobblestone floor. Which was worse? The snickers of the Guardsmen or the resounding pain on her face and arse? Regardless, the answer to the situation itself was clear.

_'Fuck. Me.'_

With a "knock" like that, it was no surprise the door swung open in an instant. Aveline stood in front of her with a concerned look on face.

"Not. A. Word," Hawke grunted, cutting off anything her friend might have wanted to say.

The redhead opened then closed her mouth. Realizing action was better, she offered a hand with a sigh and shake of her head.

"Thanks." Hawke grunted as she took the help.

Propped back on her feet, she began to dust herself off. Her task froze, however, when a she heard a snicker from behind her. Slowly turning to face the sound, Hawke found that the whole barracks was eagerly watching her shenanigans. Indeed, the chatter had gone all but quiet.

Before the awkward moment could last longer, Aveline stepped in with a slight clear of her throat. "Serre Hawke, if you would step in."

Understanding Aveline's less than subtle message of "Get in here", Hawke made a retreat into the office.

"Right...uh, just be sure to... shut the door..." She muttered as she stepped past Aveline.

The Guard-Captain happily obliged. As the click of the door closing gave sound, Hawke planted her still sore bum in one of the seats. Part of her wanted to grumble about why Aveline had to acquire cushioned chairs, but there were higher priorities.

_'Alright, I cam here for a reason...' _

What was that reason? She squirmed, unable or just unwilling to confront that reason. Instead, she sat there waiting for Aveline to return to her desk. Hawke could feel her stomach begin to churn as she sat. It was a feeling akin to eating rancid food and only realizing it after it was being digested. On the bright side, she didn't have to worry about puking her innards plus some.

"So," Aveline started as she seated herself behind her desk. "How are you doing?"

Ignoring her unsettled gut, Hawke replied nonchalantly, "Well, my ass hurts. Interestingly enough, so does my face."

"That's your fault." Aveline replied, rolling her eyes. "And speaking of your face, what happened to your eye?"

Hawke subconsciously moved her hand to her left eye, not quite touching it.

"Well..."

"Hawke, you don't have to tell me." Aveline reminded her. "I am not going to pry. Just know I am here for you."

Hawke looked down. How many times had she heard that before. Cliché words, yes, but some part of her liked them. Honestly, more than just a part of her. There was a truth in it that gave them a meaning, a reassurance, and a warmth against the loneliness.

She brought up her head again. "Thank you, Aveline."

The Captain gave a reassuring nod.

"Well, umm..." Hawke started again.

It came to Hawke's realization that it wasn't just that answer to Aveline's question was painful. There was also the matter of putting it into words. Yes, she could just say "Carver came. We argued. I provoked him to hit me." But, that wasn't right. At least it didn't seem right. She knew there was more to be said. Unable to think up of whatever that was, Hawke opted to go with simple.

"... Carver."

"What?" Aveline leaned over her desk. Was it in disbelief or just not hearing the word, Hawke could not tell. She decided to assume both.

"You know, my brother? Carver." She repeated. "Or as you prefer 'a bit of a tit.'"

Despite Hawke's repetition, Aveline still refused to accept the answer. "Carver actually came a talked to you? After three years?"

Was it sad that there was that much of a wedge between them? That her friend was surprised that he would seek out his sister after a death in the family? To the outsider, it probably was. But for Hawke, it was just an accepted reality.

"Yes. Yes, he did." She assured.

"Still doesn't explain the eye." Aveline replied.

"No, it does. Carver hit me." She paused. "Well, throttled would be a better word."

The Captain shot out of her seat.

"That arrogant brat-"

Oh, did Hawke want to agree. She could hear her brother even now. It echoed in her mind. _"__Maybe the Knight-Commander is right." _Hawke's hand clenched into a fist. She could feel her blood boil. All over a half dozen words. Then she found herself lying on the floor again. Eyes shut. Alone.

_'I was as much a brat as he was...'_

"Aveline." Hawke interrupted.

"What?"

"I...it might have been my fault... It was stupid."

"What do you mean your fault?" Aveline asked, still unseated.

"You know how you say I should shut up more often?" She replied, ignoring the question.

"Yes..." Aveline affirmed slowly.

"I should shut up more often."

The Guard-Captain of Kirkwall could only shake her head at that. Beneath her breath, she muttered something Hawke could barely pick out. Something about Amells being block-headed morons.

Hawke decided to continue, with a sigh. "He came because he wanted to know what happened. So, I told him. Sort of."

"What do you mean 'sort of'?" Aveline questioned.

"I said it was blood magic."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

The redhead made a disappointed face at Hawke. "Why?"

"I don't know." She replied uncertainly.

Aveline loosened her expression. It reshaped itself from disappointment to an ambiguous unhappiness. The Guard-Captain crossed her arms, but said nothing. Hawke felt her shoulders slump as she watched Aveline settle into a posture she knew all too well.

"I don't know why," Hawke started softly. "But..."

"But..." Aveline said, breaking her silence to prompt her friend.

"But," Hawke repeated "Things got ugly after that."

Aveline patiently stared at her this time.

"To start, he said that the Rite of Tranquility was a good idea."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Aveline did not ask again. Instead of refusing the words, she embraced her outrage. What followed was a slam of her mailed fist on her oak desk. The resounding thud was not only audible but made a neat fist shaped indention in the desk. The sudden noise caused Hawke to jump.

"Sorry." The Captain grunted. It wasn't particularly heartfelt. "Saying _that_ though. Who would be so-"

The thought sounded again. _'If he's a dipshit, I am too.'_

"-I said some things too," Hawke interrupted. "Remember me saying 'I should shut up more often'?"

Aveline furrowed her eyebrows. All the while she uncrossed her arms and leaned in. "Exactly what did you say?"

Her tone was saturated with suspicion. Three years had taught Aveline just how much of a mess the mage could make with that tongue of hers.

"That he was stupid." Hawke replied simply. "And that the Templar's were making him even stupider."

This time, Aveline couldn't even give a "What?". She just stared at Hawke.

"So, he gave me this." Hawke stopped to point at the lovely fist sized black spot around her eye. "He tried to say he was sorry. I... didn't let him. Just told him to leave."

Usually, when something complicated happens, it takes people a second to process exactly what happened. For stupid events, the time to understand what just happened is longer. The seemingly endless silence Aveline gave as she struggled to comprehend Hawke's story was a testament to the astronomical stupidity of Hawke and Carver's actions.

"I just..." Aveline began. "Maybe it's because I never had a brother."

"Lucky you." Hawke replied flatly.

"You two are family aren't you?" Aveline continued, ignoring Hawke's quip. "Isn't family supposed to stick together."

Hawke said nothing in response. Instead, she frowned as her stomach twisted in guilt. How many times had Mother pleaded for them to get along?

"At least, that's how I remember it with my father.

"Your father?" Hawke asked, curiosity snapping her personal self-pitying spiral. "You never spoke about your father."

"Never thought I needed to." Aveline answered stoutly. With a pause, she continued. Her tone softer, but still steady. "Truth be told, I always envied you Hawke. You got to know your mother. Mine? All I have are fragments. Impossibly long, fiery hair. Fair skin. And a smile that always reminded you're never alone."

Hawke crossed her legs and leaned forward. This was a side of her friend she had never seen. It was almost like meeting a new person.

"My father I do remember. A big, burly man with thick beard to match. But, with me, he was just a big stuffed bear." Aveline's face warmed at some unsaid thoughts. "Anyway, every night he would put me to bed with a storybook. Stupid things. Dragons. Heroes. He would read the words, but I would get to turn the page. That was important to him...and me. That it was my choice."

The Captain shook head, snorting.

"It's silly isn't it?" Aveline asked, question not quite directed to Hawke.

"No..." She replied, trailing off.

There was certainly more on the cusp of Hawke's tongue, but, nothing seemed to follow the lone word. Aveline didn't mind, though. It was clear that more than just thoughts of the past gripped the Captain.

"...no...it isn't silly. Not at all." Hawke continued, slow and deliberate. "Is-is he gone?"

It was a blunt question, out of character for Hawke. Yet, it was one that Aveline took in stride.

"Yes. He is." She answered, words tart. "Wasting illness. A year before the Blight began."

Aveline closed her eyes. It was clear she had already remembered. The past clear in her head.

"When I came to see him, he was already far gone. Face pale, beard scraggly, eyes gaunt. He was a shadow." Her head shook, trying to reject what was. "Yet, he wasn't gone. Not quite. When he saw me...he gave the widest smile. It was the same love I had always known. He was still the man I loved."

Finally, Aveline opened her eyes, jade in color, now wet.

"For what little time we had left, I was the one who would read to him. And, he would turn the page. Toward the end, I would help him. But, it was still the same game. _Our_ game."

The redhead exhaled. It was a display that made Hawke realize just what she had asked from her friend.

"I'm sorry if-"

"-Don't be sorry." Aveline countered. "I said it because I wanted to. Not because you forced me."

Hawke opened and closed her mouth. This was clearly a level of trust Aveline had not shared with many.

_'The least I can do is return the favor...'_

"Aveline." She started. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Have you ever wondered why I always introduce myself as Hawke?"

This. This took Aveline by surprise. For all the somberness and heart-to heart moments, this... If Aveline wanted to mask any interest, she failed.

"Yes."

For what is worth, Hawke did a better job of holding in her reaction than her compatriot. A simple, knowing grin graced her face.

"You've placed bets haven't you?"

Aveline's face began to acquire a red tinge.

"No." She unconvincingly sputtered out.

"How much?" Hawke asked, arms crossed.

"I'm not telling!"

The mage cocked her head inward, brow raised. Disbelief given form.

"...last time I checked it was...", Aveline conceded. "...fortysovereigns..." She mashed the last words together, as though attempting to sneak them by Hawke. It was a failed attempt.

"What?" This time it was disbelief given voice. "That's enough to buy a small house!"

Aveline did not grace Hawke with anything more than slight look away. Hawke, however, did not care. She was more than happy to carry on a one-sided conversation.

"How in the world did you even build up that size of a pot?" She ranted. The question gave her a realization. "Wait. You were betting with others. Who else? Varric? Isbella?"

The Captain attempted to keep her stalwart gaze away from Hawke.

"Those two are obvious." Hawke stated. "But, that isn't enough...no...Anders? Feneris?"

If Aveline's face had been glowing red before, she was now radiating a glorious rouge.

"You people...and you say I am trouble! At least Merrill wasn't a part of this..."

Hawke tapered off. At this point, even beets paled in comparison of color to her friend's face. No doubt, water would turn to steam if it were to even come close to Aveline's being. Hawke's mouth went slack.

"Even...Merrill?"

"I'm no-not saying-any-a-a-word."

The mage opened her mouth to speak once more. Instead of words coming out, air came in as she took a breath. She tried once more. The result was more or less the same. Finally, she closed her mouth. The sight was enough to snap Aveline's heat spell.

"Hawke, I didn't mean to hurt you." She apologized. "It's just...it was weird. Your mum, your brother, your uncle, your whole family always went by first name. Except you. We...just got curious. One thing lead to another..."

"...and forty sovereigns ended up on the table." Hawke finished, amusement in her voice. "I'm not upset. In fact, I'm touched. That my friends value my worth to be at least a hovel isn't something most people can say."

Aveline wasn't sure how to approach that kind of statement.

"Well, when you put it that way-"

"Don't worry Aveline, I think of you as almost half as valuable!"

Aveline shook her head in defeat.

"Guess it's too late to ask this not to go to your already massive ego."

Hawke made hurt gesture.

"It isn't _that_ big." She started. Aveline's crossed arms caused Hawke to amend her statement. "Okay, it might be a tinsy bit large. But, it could be bigger."

The redhead gave a small hah.

"Anyway, I owe you a story don't I?"

"If you don't mind." Aveline replied simply. By this point, her face had returned back to a state of normalcy.

"I don't." Hawke's words had lost their sense of joy. They were not somber, but rather mellow. "At least, I don't mind for you."

With that, Hawke took a moment to collect herself.

"You know, I don't think I've told anyone this." She warned.

Aveline said nothing, her focus merely on listening.

"So, like you, he died a few years before the Blight. It was...sudden. But, not a surprise."

"What do you mean?"

"You see, mages don't usually live as long as non-mages. I don't really know exactly why, but what..." Hawke stopped to move her jaw, to feel out saying the word. She got no further than the "fa". It made her tongue recoil. "What _he _said is that it is because of our magic. As we get older, our magic becomes more and more powerful. The cost is that our lives become...I don't how to describe it. He said you start to feel less alive."

"Less alive?" Aveline repeated, trying to grasp a concept that she could never understand.

"I haven't really felt it myself. And, honestly, I don't want to. But, well, one day he was gone." Another pause. It was almost insulting to Hawke that someone who was your very world could just be dismissed with a simple sentence.

_'He was gone...He is gone...'_

"Umm..." She started, before realizing she had lost her train of thought.

"_Damnit. Where was I?'_

"Fuck, it's been eight years. Still gets me."

"There's nothing wrong with crying."

"Crying?" Hawke asked.

On cue she felt something wet tickle her cheek.

"Shit." She sniffled. "Uh, anyway, as you can see I was close to him. 'My little shadow' is what he would call me. Probably because I followed him whenever I could. I mean how couldn't I? Everywhere he went people smiled and laughed. Jokes, smooth talk, flattery, he could do it all. It didn't matter who he was..._what _he was. Mage or no."

Hawke let herself take a shuddering breath.

"And...when he was gone..."

_'There it is again.__'_

This time, she didn't let it stop her. Not here. Not now.

"...it just wasn't the same. No more smiles. No more laughs." Another pause. "It was reminder. He was dead. And it wasn't just me who felt it. Mother wouldn't go shopping after that. She knew. Bethany and Carver? They were barely even teenagers. But, they knew. To see my family like _that_. I couldn't."

More than a few tears trickled down her face now.

"So, I thought. Then, I remembered. I was his shadow. I could fill the gap. It wouldn't be the same." She stopped, realizing a terrible thing. "You could say...I was a shadow of his true self..."

Hawke let herself give a few sobbing chuckles. Aveline, on the other hand, gave an audible facepalm.

As her fit ended, the story continued. "I could be the one to tell the jokes. To smooth talk. To flatter. And when I did, people began to smile and laugh again. Just like before."

Aveline held her tongue, at first. Understandable. Especially, when a person you would call one of your best friends acted and lived the way they did in large part because they were trying to fill the gap their father left behind. Not much could prepare you for that. It was on that thought, Aveline realized that it still didn't quite explain the 'Hawke' thing though.

"One question though, why-"

"Hawke." Hawke interrupted.

"Yes." The Captain affirmed.

"Hawke." Hawke repeated, before continuing. "Name's Hawke. That's what he would say." She let loose weak smile. "Is it my turn to ask if that is silly?"

Unlike before, Aveline's response was swift. "Only if it's my turn to say no."

Hawke could say nothing to that. She could, however, let her smile grow in appreciation. Aveline let herself find her own smile, matching Hawke's. For who knew how long, they enjoyed the silence.

"Drink?" Aveline finally said.

Hawke nodded.

Less than a minute later, Hawke found two empty cups in front of her. Accompanying them was a scotch, Antivian if she guess correct. In another time, Hawke would have teased Aveline for holding out on her. Antivian anything was always expensive. But right now, she was just happy to hear the sound of amber liquid greeting glass. Together, Aveline and Hawke raised their glasses to toast.

"To the dead."


End file.
